Tinder

Tinder is teaching me that not everyone treats interactions — virtual or otherwise — as real. I do, and it stings when that’s not reciprocated.

Tinder has suspended me again, mid-conversation with a handful of matches, and I hate being the guy who just disappears.

A woman on Tinder appreciates my… specificity.

A taxonomy of the women I don’t enjoy interacting with on Tinder, which is to say, nearly all of them.

A gorgeous woman from Tinder writes me for advice about her vanilla boyfriend. I do my best, conflicted as I am.

She reminded me of a bird — tiny, fragile, shivering when I placed my hand on her throat.

She showed me everything, promised me more, and then vanished — not even a goodbye, just the silent void of a disappeared Tinder thread.

My presumption is that you’re a slut who’s going to do exactly as I say.

Tinder, once again, has decided I can’t be trusted to talk to people.

Tinder kicked me off, and I’m left with more women than I can handle and less appetite than I’d have predicted.